


and i want to sing (over you and into you)

by iskra (kiira)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, post-36, ptsd warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/iskra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is more wonderful than you can imagine, being able to touch Laura, to kiss her and hold her, to call her yours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i want to sing (over you and into you)

Light is stained glass above you, cut and broken and you think you are being carried (you remember Mother and Laura and falling, falling, falling and then and lovely, terrible nothing).

Someone is talking but they are speaking through honey and everything is muffled (you wonder if some part of you still believes in angels).

//

It is more wonderful than you can imagine, being able to touch Laura, to kiss her and hold her, to call her _yours_.

You’re on her bed, your shirt forgotten somewhere, her hands burning holy into your skin and the door slams open.

“Laura, can you believe this school offers a course in – oh!”

Her roommate is standing in the doorway, hand clapped over her mouth, looking like she raided Perry’s wardrobe (all practical button downs and neat cardigan) and Laura’s bright pink.

You stand and offer your hand, not bothering to find your shirt.

“I’m Carmilla,” and she nods, carefully looking at the wall behind your head, anywhere but your pale, naked flesh.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she says, and points vaguely at a couple boxes. “Your _stuff_ ,” and she says the word like it’s a generous thing, “is in there. You can keep the stuff you took from the other Betty. I’m gonna – I’m gonna go now,” and she gives Laura an awkward nod and turns on her heel.

Laura groans, “She saw you _naked_ ,” and you nip at her lip.

“Not quite, sweetheart. Although –” and Laura pulls you down to kiss you again.

//

It comes back to you in pieces (broken, hopeful, hating pieces) (you wish you could forget).

The first night in Laura’s arms you wake up panting (remember how you were buried?)

//

You leapt into the endless morning and let it devour you; (and for the third time in your endless life you were buried).

You do not die until the light dies in your sword (you remember this sitting in class two months later, remember seeing your arm twisted back and watching the light fade; your whole body stiffens, you run out of the room and dry heave in the bathroom).

//

You do not remember death.

//

Laura doesn’t go home.

At least not this time; this time she stays in this broken shell of a school, with your sometimes-shell of a body ( _you are whole_ you remind yourself, but some days your heart flutters with the memory of terror and you are reminded that you are hollow inside).

Betty leaves for Princeton, and you spend your days curled up into Laura, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her.

It’s just as wonderful as it was the first time (it will always be as wonderful as it was the first time).

“Carm,” she whispers into your mouth, “why didn’t we do this sooner?”

And you laugh, pulling away slightly (she pouts, and you’re tempted to kiss her cause she’s so damn _cute_.)

“I tried, sweetheart. Your scooby gang seemed to have it in for us,” and Laura glances towards the door as if Danny or Perry or LaFontaine may come bursting in.

“I locked it,” you say, and she pulls you close to kiss you again, trying to pull your shirt off in the same movement.

(It fails miserably.)

//

You had forgotten the honey-thick light of the stained glass until one day when you stumble walking back from the TA offices with Danny and she catches you by the elbow.

(There’s something familiar in her hand, something soft and warm and safe and you want to throw up.)

There’s a look on your face, you suppose, because Danny stops and looks at you carefully (Laura had pulled aside all of your friends and explained everything; they know what to watch for) (Natalie had found you dry heaving in the bathroom).

“Carm, you good?”

And you nod, slowly, “No. No, Danny, Danny were – were you the one who—who carried me— ”

Her eyes widen and she looks oh so fragile (she looks like all six foot three of her could break with a single breath) “You were so small,” she breathes and she looks like she is somewhere golden, “You were so dead,” her voice catches, breaks and she’s crying quietly.

(You do not know what to do) (You do not know what to do; you cry).

//

Perry and LaFontaine throw a party (“It’s a get-together,” Perry insists, LaFontaine holds up the alcohol behind her) and you and Laura spend most of it making out on the mostly-falling apart couch.

(You feel achingly eighteen).

“I am incredibly in love with you,” Laura murmurs between kisses and you feel your hands (the empty hollow of your heart) go warm-cold-warm.

Laura pulls away, as if she just realized what she said, “You know you don’t have to say it back.”

And you nod (you love Laura, you love her wonderfully) (you are scared)

(things you love have the horrible tendency to horribly die).

So you pull Laura to you and kiss her long, kiss her hard, kiss her sacred, (she knows).

(Danny throws a chip at your head, “Do you even need to breathe, vamp-girl?” and you know for a fact that she’s been enthusiastically kissing Kirsch against the wall for the past ten minutes, so you just pull Laura closer.)

//

Winter comes, and Laura’s dad sends her a package (she opens it and pulls a face). It’s full of all sorts of winter camping gear, literally anything Laura would need should she find herself in the middle of the woods in subzero weather.

“I’m running out of room under my bed, Carm” and she looks longingly at your half of the shoved together twins.

“Fine,” you grumble, and help her stuff the sleeping bags under your bed (there are also, worryingly, several weapons).

Laura finishes unpacking the box, and at the bottom are matching sweaters and she’s got the biggest grin plastered on her face.

“I might have told him about you,” and she hands one to you.

It’s got a note on it (For Carmilla, From Mr. Hollis) and there is a picture of a cat knitted into it and you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry.

(You wear it the next day) (It feels like Laura, and family, and something you half-remember from a forever ago childhood).

//

It isn’t easy. It isn’t easy, and you still spend most nights shock-straight scared; death and light and burning, burning white, a forever haunt.

(Laura wakes up with a gasp some nights too; you hold her and she cries) (three months in she tells you why).

The broken memories of those days under Silas and those years under Austria come in flashes and you are left tasting dirt and with an ache in your chest (dry heaving in the bathroom, sobbing, stony cold).

But there are long nights of Laura kissing you, Laura kissing you, Laura kissing you. Her lips are a prayer, a covenant.

A holy sacrament.

(You have been alive for three hundred years; you wonderfully do not want to die).


End file.
